


Don't Ask Me Why

by indevan



Series: A Matter of Trust [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ferelden seems to think that six months is a good enough respite between ending the Blight and dealing with more shenanigans, it seems.  New friends, old friends, weird human-faced pillbug Darkspawn, it's all in a day for this elven band of misfits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The path curved up into darkness.  Maeve adjusted her shield onto her arm, which drew a curious look from her companion.

“There’s no fighting,” Tobias said.  He burrowed deeply into the cloak he wore and shivered. “Just rain.”

Maeve had been traveling with Tobias for days.  He had an apparent vulnerability to the cold that she had never noticed during the Blight.  Then again, Tobias had kept to himself, only offering healing when he was required.  Traveling with him had proven no further insight into his personality except that he apologized a lot and hated the cold.  She knew more about Mhairi, their third companion.  She knew she was a soldier and a Grey Warden recruit.

“Always good to be prepared,” she said.  Maeve had to admire her enthusiasm if nothing else.  She was intent on being a Warden and seemed to think quite highly of them.

Tobias, meanwhile, was an adviser sent from the Circle (on Wynne’s referral) and had seen the Blight firsthand.  When Mhairi asked him a few days ago what it was like fighting in Denerim he said, “A hurlock exploded on me and I threw up.”

“Can you sense Darkspawn?”

Maeve looked at Mhairi and smiled kindly.  Her enthusiasm reminded her a little of her cousin.  Whenever Devyn talked about werewolves or other supernatural creatures, he got the same look on his face.  She hadn’t seen him for some time.  He was busy in Denerim, dealing with nobles weren’t exactly happy with an elf influencing the King.

“No,” she said. “It should be an easy trip to Amaranthine.”

A loud cry rented the air and from the darkness came a form.  A man in chainmail shot past them, his boots squelching on the wet ground.

“How about now?” Tobias asked.

“That’s one of my fellow soldiers who came to Vigil’s Keep!” Mhairi proclaimed. “What could be happening?”

Maeve felt the itch under her scalp, the poke to the back of the head.

“It’s Darkspawn.”

Tobias made a sigh of remorse and took his staff from where it was strapped to his back.

“I should have just stayed in the Circle…”

“You told me you hated the Circle,” Mhairi said. “I’ve known you for two days and I know that.”

“Yes, well...yes.  Sorry.”

Maeve shook her head but said nothing.  She drew her sword, glad that her shield was already centered on her arm.

“I fear they may be at the Keep,” she said.

“If the Darkspawn move in, they’re going to have to pay rent,” Tobias quipped.  At her withering look, he ducked his head and said, “Sorry.”

He tugged his hood down so it obscured his eyes.  Cassan had relayed that he used to do that with his hair in the Circle and that it was “bloody annoying,” but he had trimmed his bangs so he could see and had to improvise.  Maeve honestly couldn’t help but feel protective of Tobias.  For a human, he was so fine-boned and sensitive that she was afraid of him being hurt.

“Let’s go!” Mhairi thrust her sword into the air and rushed forward.

“You don’t even know where it--wait!” Tobias cried.

He turned and gave Maeve a helpless look.  Most of his narrow, fox-like face was shrouded in shadow from the gloom and his hood but she could see his knit eyebrows and open mouth.  He gestured after her with the hand not holding his staff.

“She’s enthusiastic,” Maeve said, “that’s something the Wardens need.”

He let out another sigh, this one exasperated.  His body then began to shimmer a white-blue color and the air around him got colder.  Maeve lifted her shield, knowing what to expect.  With a burst of wintery cold, Tobias shot off in the direction Mhairi went.  For someone who hated the cold, he seemed to know a lot of cold spells.  She shook her head and went after the both of them.

A bolt of lightning streaked through the sky, illuminating the road up towards a set of broken gates.  Maeve was surprised that they had been so close to the Keep.  Soldiers were fighting small throngs of Darkspawn.  She saw Mhairi taking down a group of genlocks.  Further ahead, Tobias sent a fireball into hurlock’s face.  Mhairi would make a fine addition to the Wardens, she thought.  She seemed to bear no mind to the fact that ichor was staining her mauve armor.  Tobias handled a staff well and he knew more than just how to heal.  Maeve wished that she could convince him to be a Warden but after the Blight, he had refused.  She supposed that, as Warden-Commander of Ferelden, she could conscript him but she didn’t want to do that.

A genlock rushed at her and Maeve spun to cleave its head off with her sword.  Fighting Darkspawn was second nature now.  She sensed them and she struck.  As she fought to the entrance of the Keep, she let herself think.  The soldiers fighting were Amaranthine soldiers.  None of the Wardens from Orlais were here.  That was a concern.  Darkspawn were attacking in organized bands with no Archdemon to guide them.  That was a concern.  If this was a bigger problem, she would need help.  She would have to write letters.  Devyn and Alistair were too busy in Denerim but she could send letters to Highever and Antiva City.  Granted, getting ahold of Theron and Kierin would be difficult since she didn’t know where in the city the two of them were.  Still, she would have to try to get in contact with them.

The doors to the Keep blew open, dragging her from her thoughts.  Standing in front of her was a genlock emissary.  She gritted her teeth and held her blade ready.  The emissary raised its arms above his head to begin conjuring a spell but a boulder flew from over her shoulder and knocked it down.

“Sorry!” Tobias yelled from somewhere in the darkness.

“Don’t apologize to Darkspawn!” Mhairi cried.

“Sorry!”

“And don’t--ugh!  No wonder you’re not a Warden.”

Maeve cleared her throat and called out to them.

“Just both of you keep it up inside.”

\--

Anders was dead.  He was definitely dead.  The Darkspawn had killed the Templars escorting him but who was going to believe that?  Worse still, there were more Darkspawn.  He had dropped his staff fighting them off and so just had to fire spells from his hands.  Not channeling through a staff always made his teeth tingle and his fingers feel funny.  But, with the choice being “be momentarily uncomfortable or permanently dead” he figured he could do with discomfort.

He summoned a fireball and hurled it at a group of Darkspawn.  They fell and the smell of their burning flesh made him wrinkle his nose.  A door behind him opened and Anders spun around, shaking his hands out from the exertion of magic.

“Uh...I didn’t do it.”

A trio of people stood in the doorway.  Not Templars, at least, he thought as he took in their armor.  Two humans and an elf.  The elf seemed to be their leader as she was at least at the front of the trio.  She wore heavy plate armor and carried a silver shield painted with a blue griffon.  A Warden?  Well, of course.  The Blight had just ended.  She was an elf and a Warden so Anders figured she had to be one of the Heroes of Ferelden.  A young woman was to her left wore mauve chainmail and had a surprised look on her face as if she wasn’t expecting them.  Well, she probably hadn’t.  She pushed a gauntlet through her shorn, dark hair and frowned.  The third person looked the most surprised.  He was a young man with amber skin and gray eyes that were currently open in surprise.  Black hair was pulled back into a short and messy horsetail.  It took Anders a moment, the adrenaline from the fight whooshing around his head, to place him.

“Amell!”

“Anders?”

He knew him from the Tower.  He...looked good.  Without all that hair in his face, he could make out his sharp-featured face, thin-bladed nose, and warm, expressive eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

Anders gestured to the bodies.

“They were...escorting me back to the Tower and stopped here for supplies.  Darkspawn attacked.  It was tragic, really.”

The girl with the short hair drew her blade.

“He’s an apostate.”

“It’s fine,” Amell said, “it’s Anders.  He was always escaping the Circle and being brought back.”

“He killed those Templars!”

“The Darkspawn did it,” he said with a weary sigh, “not that I mourn their deaths.  Never met a Templar I didn’t hate.”

The elven woman nodded. “Understandable.  I’m M--Commander Tabris.  Are you hurt?”

Anders swept a hand over his hair and shook his head.  He bent down to retrieve his staff and shouldered it.

“I’m fine.  Do you need any help?”

“Yes!” Amell exclaimed and then blushed. “I mean, it’ll be better if we stick together.  Right, Maeve?”

Anders thought he sounded a bit too enthusiastic about his company but he couldn’t help but be relieved when Commander Tabris--Maeve?--nodded.

“We’ll need all the help we can get until I can figure out this problem,” she said.

Anders breathed a sigh of relief.  The woman still didn’t seem convinced.

“Then we’ll report him to the proper authorities, right?”

“Probably not.”

Anders flashed a grin at Amell who pulled his hood back up over his head, blushing furiously.  That was interesting.  Amell always kept to himself in the Circle.  The only person he spoke to was that disaster, Jowan.  Despite the blushing, he seemed different.  He was speaking full sentences around him, even.

“So who’s ready to fight some Darkspawn?” he asked with over the top excitement.

No one answered him.

\--

There was more fighting up ahead.  Maeve could hear it echoing through the halls.  The entire Keep was infested with Darkspawn.  Maeve would definitely have to write letters now.  In the next room, she could hear the familiar sound of a battleaxe being swung.  Part of her, a part that was more than likely battle fatigued, thought for a moment that Devyn somehow knew about their plight and come to help.  She kicked the door open and saw a short and stocky figure carving up the Darkspawn.

“Oghren?”

The dwarf turned from the balcony where he was fighting and waved.  Both Maeve and Tobias awkwardly waved back while Anders and Mhairi looked at one another in confusion.

“Hey, how’s it going, Maeve?  Thomas?”

“Tobias,” he corrected flatly.

Oghren killed off the last of the Darkspawn he was fighting and swung down from the balcony.

“Good to see ya!”

“You know him, Commander?” Mhairi asked. “He was here when I left and I’d hoped someone would have thrown him out…”

Oghren spat on the floor and let out a hearty laugh.

“I helped with the Blight!  Figured I’d come and help ya out.  Maybe take a shot at being a Warden.”

Maeve shook her head.  She didn’t know much about Oghren except that he had known where to find the Anvil of the Void and drank a lot.

“Fine,” she said. “Oghren, stay and help.  We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Anders plugged his nose with his fingers and shook his head.

“Nasty,” he said with a clogged voice.

“You don’t exactly smell like daisies yerself, magey.”

“I spent the last few weeks hiding in the woods.  What’s your excuse?”

Maeve sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.  It seemed she was going to have to mediate fights yet again.

“Let’s deal with the Darkspawn problem and then comment on each other’s body odors.”

Tobias twisted his forefinger with the fingers of his other hand and bit his lip.

“I think you smell fine, Anders.” He was blushing and Maeve looked from him to Anders and sighed.  She knew that look.  She had seen her cousin look at Alistair with that look for weeks before they first came together.  This, though, was even less of her business.

“Thanks, Amell.”

“Again--Darkspawn.”

Maeve fought the urge to push them all through the door.  With Tobias suddenly tripping over his feet and blushing, it seemed that the only person she could count on was Mhairi.

“Yeah, I heard one of the soldier say somethin’ about a talkin’ one.”

Mhairi widened her eyes in surprise.

“A talking Darkspawn?  But Darkspawn don’t talk.”

“Emissaries do,” Maeve said. “Sort of.”

“Said it’s on the battlements,” Oghren continued.

Maeve nodded and ran her hand through her hair.  She was sure she smeared gore into the curls but that was of no concern right now.

“Let’s go.”

\--

An older man in armor was being dragged to the ledge by some large creature.  To Maeve, it felt like a Darkspawn even though it clearly didn’t look like one.  It was huge with peeling gray skin and glowing eyes.

“It is talking!” Anders exclaimed.

Tobias made frantic gestures in front of his mouth and widened his eyes.

“Shh!  It’ll hear us!”

“Who’s he carrying?” Anders asked, ignoring Tobias’s warning.

“Seneschal Varel,” Mhairi answered. “We have to do something!”

Anders stood up and brought two fingers to his mouth.  He let out a shrill, long whistle.  The Darkspawn (or whatever it was) turned from threatening Varel to look at them.

“Hey!” Anders exclaimed, waving one arm excitedly. “Catch!”

He summoned a ball of fire to his hand and tossed it towards the Darkspawn.  The moment it touched its skin, the flame grew and blew up with such force that it took him back.  He let go of Varel’s armor and the man crawled away.  Maeve rushed forward in the confusion and cut at it with her sword.  At least the creature seemed to die like any other Darkspawn.

“On second thought,” Anders said, “maybe we shouldn’t have killed it before we could get information.”

“You fired first!” Tobias exclaimed.

“I probably should have waited, yes.”

Maeve saw the look of exasperation on Tobias’s face supercede his blush.  She heard someone clear their throat and turned to see Seneschal Varel had gotten to his feet.

“Hello, Seneschal,” Maeve said, putting a smile on her face. “I’m Commander Tabris.”

He bowed his head and said, “My Lady.”

She still wasn’t used to being called “My Lady.”  Maybe it was the result of being called “knife-ear” too many times in her life.

“Uh, these are Grey Warden recruits...and Tobias Amell.  Of...Starkhaven?”

“Kirkwall,” he corrected.

“And Anders!  A lovable apostate I hope you will remember was very, very helpful.” Anders smiled broadly and spread his arms to introduce himself.

Varel smiled kindly. “Greetings.  I fear...the Keep was ill-equipped to mark your arrival, Commander.”

“No…” Anders said, widening his eyes. “What?”

Varel gave him a suspicious look and then shook his head.  Maeve was beginning to get a little annoyed with Anders.  He was a combination of Alistair and Theron’s least likable qualities.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Maeve asked.

“I do not.  The Wardens from Orlais arrived and then the Darkspawn attacked.”

“I didn’t see any dead Wardens,” she said with a frown.

“That is what’s stranger.  It appears the Darkspawn took the Wardens with them as prisoners.”

Maeve furrowed her brow.  That didn’t make sense.  Darkspawn didn’t take prisoners.  They didn’t talk either--not like that one whose body rested a mere meter from them.

“Well...that’s something we’ll have to figure out…” She glanced at Oghren and Mhairi, “but we do have two Grey Warden recruits.”

“Good to hear.  The Wardens have entrusted me to help you in taking care of the Arling.  I...served under Arl Howe but we often clashed.”

Maeve only knew of how from passing.  Although by “passing,” she really meant “from Ian’s white hot hatred for the men” since their companion had sought revenge on him for killing his family.

“Yes, I’ve...heard of his reputation.”

Varel nodded and exhaled.  His breath puffed out visibly in front of him, heralding the cold weather that was to come.

“We should continue this conversation inside, my--”

A blaring trumpet cut off his words.  Varel turned and looked out over the Keep’s courtyard.

“It appears we have company.”

\--

Ferelden soldiers marched up towards the gates and Maeve exhaled in relief.  At least it wasn’t more Darkspawn.  Not that Darkspawn would blow a war horn but, then again, Darkspawn were doing a lot lately that was unprecedented.  Two rows of soldiers turned towards one another and then parted to make way for a lone figure in armor.  Maeve recognized him right away.  It had been several months but she knew him anywhere.  Alistair grinned broadly as he approached, looking nothing like the King he was.  He wore silver plate armor imprinted with the image of Mabari.

At the sight of him, Mhairi bent down on one knee and Tobias and Anders jerkily followed suit.  Maeve felt weird bowing.  He was Alistair.  He smiled at her gratefully in that awkward, stilted way of his.  He had shaved recently and his hair still kicked up awkwardly in the front as it always did.  In the time since she had seen him, his face had filled out and that fancy armor he wore was hiding a slight potbelly.

“I see Devyn’s been spoiling you,” she said wryly.

“You can tell?” he asked with a slight yelp.

“A little.”

Alistair made a disgruntled noise and drew in a deep breath like he was attempting to suck it in.

“This is the King?” Anders asked, getting to his feet.

“Show some respect!” Mhairi hissed.

Anders replied by rolling his eyes.  Seemingly unable to hold his breath any longer, Alistair blew out and winced.

“Alright, so, I heard things were going sour here so I sent some troops to help.” He made a face and added, “I wish I could but the Bannorn is giving me a hard time and I have to stay in Denerim.  I can, however, lend you someone.  Come on up!”

Alistair moved to the side and made way for someone else.  Like Alistair, this person was dressed in plate mail though the size was much smaller.  A small crest that bore the Theirin family heraldry was worn at the hip of the fitted armor.  An enormous battleaxe was strapped across his back.

“Cousin!”

Devyn’s face split into a broad smile as he rushed to hug Maeve.  She held him tightly, not caring that she was making a fool of herself in front of the new recruits.

“For now,” Alistair said. “He was causing too much trouble in court, anyway.”

Devyn turned from her and grinned. “You love it.”

“I do.  The Bannorn doesn’t.”

They smiled at one another, eyes equally besotted.  Maeve remembered when she was suspicious of Alistair’s intentions but that time was long gone.

“See you soon, love.  Papa will cook for you while I’m away.”

Alistair smiled and took him into his arms for a kiss.

“I don’t care about that.  I’m going to miss you.”

They kissed again and Maeve had to look away.  The two of them were too sickeningly sweet sometimes.

“Your majesty!  This man is a criminal!”

The sudden intrusion of a woman’s voice made Devyn and Alistair break their embrace.

“Come on,” Devyn said with a groan. “You murder _one_ guy in cold blood and you’re suddenly a criminal.”

The woman who spoke gave him a withering look.  She was older, perhaps in her forties, and kept her hair tightly bound at the base of her head.  She was dressed in a long, red and white skirt and a chestplate that bore a flaming sword.  A Templar.

“Not you, elf.”

“That’s ‘Royal Consort’ to you, random Templar,” Devyn replied in a cheeky voice.

“You from the Assembly?” Oghren asked. “‘Cuz I’m a surfacer now and--”

“Not you either!”

“She means me.”

Anders spoke in a glum voice.  His head was hung and he looked properly chastised.

“This apostate is a murderer and he should be hung.”

“Hanged,” Devyn corrected. “A person is hanged.  A portrait is hung.”

“And Anders didn’t murder anyone!” Tobias cried. “The Templars with him were killed by Darkspawn.  Some of them had bite marks!”

Maeve suspected that Tobias hadn’t seen the bodies of the Templars to know that but they definitely had been felled by blades and not magic.

“And who are you?” she asked, getting in Tobias’s face. “Are you another apostate?”

“He is adviser to the Grey Wardens of Ferelden,” Maeve replied, “As allowed by First Enchanter Irving.”

She pulled back from Tobias’s face, apparently appeased.

“That still does not excuse Anders.  He is a danger to himself and others.  He needs to be taken into custody.”

“And who are you?” Alistair asked.

She turned to look at him and stood up straighter. “Ser Rylock, your majesty.  I traveled with you from Denerim.”

Alistair and Devyn exchanged a look.

“Oh, right.  I was wondering who that was following us.”

Devyn nodded his agreement.  Rylock looked exasperated as if she had traveled into a comedy of errors.

“Anders helped the Wardens,” Tobias said. “It should be up to Commander Maeve what to do.”

“No it isn’t.  I’m a Templar.”

Maeve looked at the desperate look on Tobias’s face to the scowl on Rylock’s to Anders’s look of defeat.

“Tobias is right.  I hereby conscript the mage Anders into the Grey Wardens.”

“What?” Anders asked.

“What?!” Rylock demanded.

Alistair laughed behind his hand.

“Your majesty!  You can’t stand for this, can you?”

He shrugged. “I believe the Grey Wardens have the right to conscript anyone.”

Devyn let out his raspy cackle--a sound Maeve missed more than she cared to admit--and shook his head.

“Way to try and appeal to someone who was a Grey Warden.”

Rylock gave him a dirty look and Devyn smiled back.  Maeve saw that his propensity to talk back to figures of authority hadn’t left him during his months in court.  No wonder the Bannorn was angered by him.

“I see…” Rylock turned and gave Anders an appraising look. “You cannot hide amongst the Wardens forever, apostate.”

She turned on her heel and left down the path.

“Nice meeting you!” Devyn called after her.

Mhairi looked at him in disbelief.

“You helped end the Blight?”

“Sure did!”

Seneschal Varel shook his head.

“If it is not too much, I would like to get the Joining underway.”

“You know how to perform the Joining?” Maeve asked.

“The Wadens of Orlais left instructions should anything...happen.” He looked back at the Keep and sighed.

“In that case, I should head back to Denerim.” Alistair ducked down to give Devyn one last kiss.

He gave cursory farewells to the others before exiting with a small number of the soldiers.

“So…” Devyn said, smiling brightly. “Who’s ready to chug some blood?”

\--

Maeve wished more and more that she could convince Tobias to become a Warden.  They needed all of the help they could get and now they were one short.  Mhairi hadn’t made it through the Joining.  The most promising of their recruits and she died.  Maeve sighed and rubbed her temples.  There was so much going on at once.  The missing Wardens, the talking Darkspawn...it was a lot to take in in one night.  The staff of the Keep was taking care to remove the Darkspawn bodies and cleaning up destruction.  She passed by one servant and smiled apologetically.  With any luck, the Keep would be fixed up by the end of the week.  She slipped into the room she had been given and sat down at the desk to write letters.

Without Mhairi and with a threat this big, she would need help.

\--

The elf stood at the food stall, completely unaware that he was being watched.  He watched him and licked his lips as his eyes roved over his body.  Long and lean--tall for an elf.  He bent over the counter of the food stall, pointing to something that was being sold.  Glossy, blue-black hair spilled down his back, past his waist and braided loosely.

Hector slipped from his spot in the shadows and sidled up to him.  Maker, he was even better-looking up close.  His hair still obscured much of his face but he could make out the rise of his cheekbones and the even line of his nose.

“Hello, messere,” he said, keeping his voice at a purr. “You are so very lucky.”

“Am I?” he asked. “Is the lamb here that good?”

His voice bore a strange accent.  It certainly wasn’t Antivan but he couldn’t place what it was.

“No, no,” he said. “It is that you have captured the attention of one of the most talented Crows in all of Antiva.”

He saw no issue in admitting his allegiance to the Crows.  They practically ran the country after all.  The elf turned to him and smiled widely.  Hector faltered.  The elf had those frightening facial tattoos that the Dalish had.  Worse still were his eyes.  They were green but instead of white surrounding them there was black.  Hector knew him.  Everyone in Antiva City knew him.  He was one of those elves that ended the Blight and, worse, he was one of the elves who was killing his kind.

“You’re a Crow?” Now he could place that accent as Dalish.

“Did I say that?  I--”

That was all Hector could get out before a knife slashed across his throat.  His body fell and the elf turned to the vendor who impassively passed him a lamb kebab.

“Thanks, serrah,” he said sunnily, handing over his coin.

He deftly stepped over Hector’s corpse and traipsed through the market, happily eating his kebab.  A hand shot out from an alleyway and dragged him in.

“Did you have to kill him in broad daylight, lethallin?” Hearing Kierin’s real voice--and not the fake Dalish accent he put on--was still jarring.

“He was coming onto me,” Theron replied and took a bite of lamb.  At his friend’s disapproving stare, he pointed it towards him. “Want some?”

They had been tailing Hector for weeks so he wasn’t sure why Kierin was getting so huffy about it.  Maybe he was still pissed off that he couldn’t clomp around Antiva in his favorite heavy armors.

“He also freaked out about my eyes.  I hate when people do that.”

“Hate when people touch your hair or freak out about your eyes...lethallin…” Kierin shook his head.

Theron pouted at him and took another bite of his kebab.  He had known Kierin for over ten years and he still didn’t understand him sometimes.

“I’m not upset about them,” he continued as they began to walk along the backstreets together. “Other people just have issues.”

“Your eyes are startling.”

“Excuse you, they’re a symbol of me fighting off fucking possession, Kee.”

Kierin shook his head and it made Theron smile.  He leaned in to thread their arms together before interlocking their fingers.

“Come on.  Let’s go find Zevran.”

A faint blush rose to his Clan mate’s cheeks that Theron didn’t quite understand.  He probably just wasn’t used to Antiva’s weather yet.  It was so much warmer than Ferelden.

The three of them were staying in a tavern near the red lantern district.  Theron found it to be the best place yet in the six months they had been in Antiva.  Except for when people called him “exotic.”  That was the point where he wanted to fill them with arrows.  It happened often around the brothels and it was all Kierin or Zevran could do to stop him from, at the very least, snapping someone’s wrist.

Zevran was waiting for them upstairs.  At the sight of him, Theron broke into a wild grin.  Zevran responded in kind and wrapped his arms around his middle, pulling him into a kiss.

“Mi amor,” he whispered against his lips.

“Ma vhenan,” he whispered back.

Kierin cleared his throat loudly.

“There’s a letter on the desk.”

Zevran turned from their embrace and looked at it.

“Ah, yes.  It arrived via a very confused messenger.  It has a Warden seal on it so I dared not open it.”

Kierin crossed to the small, weathered table and picked up the letter.  He read it in silence, eyes scanning the page and lips moving slightly as he did.  When he finished, he looked up.

“We’re going back to Ferelden, lethallin.”

\--

The messenger waited patiently in the meeting hall in Castle Cousland.  Cassan left him there.  Whatever he had to say couldn’t be more important than what they were dealing with.

“He hasn’t gotten out of bed,” Castor reported in that chipper, sunny voice of his that belied the gloominess of his words.

“How do you know?” Cassan asked sharply.

“Uh…”

She took in the hesitation in her brother’s voice and gave him a dirty look.  She had given Ian one rule to them all living together in his ancestral home: “don’t fuck my brother.”

“Did you sleep with Ian?”

“No,” he replied too quickly.  He must have sensed her glare because he kept talking. “No, really.  I offered and he said, ‘Castor, you’re adorable and I find your fascination with demons and blood magic weirdly endearing but I made a promise to your sister.’  But he was having nightmares so I stayed in the bed with him.  Just in case.”

In case Ian did things like wake up in the middle of the night and crawl through the hidden passages of the castle or clean knives in the kitchen.  Being back in Castle Cousland wasn’t good for him, she thought.  Fergus ignored it but he ignored everything.  The death of his family, his younger brother’s trauma, his mysterious time recuperating in the Wilds.  He fielded it with a smile and a clap on the shoulder whenever it was brought up.  “Things are good now,” he said and kept on smiling.

Cassan leaned against the doorframe and sighed.  Usually she was the one in Ian’s bed to stay with him.  He was an excellent source of heat and she enjoyed cuddling.  However, most nights, someone was in his bed with him and they usually found it weird that Cassan would be next to them, calmly reading a book, while they were in the middle of coitus.  So she made herself scarce.  She had made that assumption last night but apparently the other person had been her brother and, luckily, no sex had occurred.

“He needs to get out of here,” she said. “Fergus is no help.”

Castor nodded and ran his hand through his blond hair, yawning as he did.

“He’s so cheerful.  Like, scary cheerful.  Even I’m not that cheerful.”

Cassan didn’t point out that Castor’s cheerfulness was only partially his disposition.  The rest was an act to make others underestimate him.  She was, though, trying to make peace with her brother.  Family was fleeting and he was all she had by blood.

She walked into the room and sat by the bed where Ian was.  Meat laid next to him in the bed, his head resting on his paws.  He made a mournful harumphing sound and looked at Ian dolefully.

“You alright, hamhead?”

She stroked her hand down his bicep.  Ian made a groan that sounded too eerily like Meat’s and rolled over.

“Do you want breakfast?” she asked.  Food was usually what got him out of bed when he got down.

He burrowed down more deeply in the blankets in a vain attempt to make himself smaller.  Cassan sighed and leaned down to kiss his temple.  She got back to her feet and went to the kitchen to tell the staff to make something for him.  The smell, maybe, would get him on his feet.  She passed by the messenger again who still waited in the meeting hall.

“Serrah!” he called.

Cassan sighed.  She couldn’t just ignore him, could she?  She turned and folded her arms over her chest.

“What?”

“Letter for you.  From Amaranthine.”

He handed her a folded piece of parchment with a royal blue crest stamped on it.  She saw a reared griffon in the wax.  A message from the Wardens.  For a while after the Blight, Weisshaupt had been hounding after all of them--particularly Theron.  They mostly ignored the letters and the Wardens eventually relented or lost track of them.  Amaranthine, though, that was close.  She pried it open and read the message.  Maeve needed their help.  Her help.  Cassan smiled.  This was what they needed.

She bid the messenger farewell and marched back to Ian’s room.

“Come on, hamhead.  Get out of bed.  We’re going to Amaranthine.”

“Me too.”

Cassan sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Fine, you can come.”

“I wasn’t asking, Cass.  I was saying that I was coming.  I wanna explore more outside the Circle.”

She gritted her teeth.

“Fine.  Whatever.  Now come on, Ian.  Get up.”

He slowly moved out of his blankets and sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Amaranthine?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s where Howe was.” He grinned in a dangerous, scary way. “I want to shit on his tapestries.”

Well it was a start.


	2. Chapter 2

Maeve was surprised at how fast everything happened.  No sooner had the Darkspawn bodies been removed from the Keep did she have at least ten different tasks.  Nobles swarmed her at every turn, speaking down to her about their problems.

“My farm--”

“--his farm!”

“My holdings--”

Maeve rubbed her temples and sighed.  She would be lying if she said she was listening.  Worse still, Varel made her sit in what she could only describe as a throne and her feet didn’t quite touch the floor.  She tucked them up under herself and tried to look more comfortable than she felt.  Tobias--her supposed adviser--was missing from the room but she figured that a nineteen-year-old Circle mage would have been zero help even if he was there.

Devyn leaned against the wall next to her, his arms folded over his chest.

“Cousin,” he said, rising up. “Allow me.”

She squinted a bit at him as he walked up to where the nobles were gathered.

“All of you,” he said, grinning broadly. “We are still recovering from the Darkspawn attack and settling into the Keep.  Bring your asinine problems in later when we care enough to hear them.”

Maeve pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.  No wonder the Bannorn hated him.  The nobles stared at him in a mix of shock and revulsion and he responded by widening his grin.  Varel buried his face in his hands.  The first man who spoke looked at the noble to her direct left.

“Perhaps...as the Warden says…”

To her surprise, the others began muttering their agreement and dispersed from the hall.  Maeve cast a look at Devyn.

“They’ll complain but they can’t really say much to someone who ended the Blight,” he said by way of explanation.

Maeve raised her eyebrows.  The nobles had listened.  She hadn’t thought of the impact they would have had for ending the Blight.  She had thought that they were still just elves to people but she supposed that the Blight was fresh in people’s memories.  Devyn knew but, then again, he had been in court for six months.

“It’s worse in Denerim,” he continued, “when they can whine directly to the King.  They don’t...appreciate Alistair’s sense of humor, either.”

She could imagine.  Alistair, in the time she had known him, was not one to edit how he spoke.  He always let stories go on for at least one sentence longer than they had to.

“It’s pretty great.”

Maeve shook her head.  It was a fine joke the Maker played on the nobles of Ferelden that the royal-consort was staunchly anti-noble.  She reckoned it was worse now that he had immunity from being imprisoned for being a “mouthy elf” and had ended the Blight.  Not to mention, of course, that he held the King’s heart and they would have to go through the Theirin heir to get to him.

She batted at his head, catching some of his hairs between her fingers to tug them gently in chastisement.

“Don’t burn too many bridges, cousin,” she said.

“Who?  Me?”

Devyn grinned and she was overcome with a wave of affection, despite the fact that he was causing trouble and had previously changed the course of an entire country’s political history just so he and his lover could stay together.  She had missed him.

“How is everything at home?  Other than at the palace.”

He tapped his chin. “Soris is dating a human, which is pissing off Shianni.  Aunt Norah has some kind of coughing thing, which is worrisome, but Alistair is having healers look at her.  Papa loves the palace kitchens and Nelaros…well, he misses you.”

She closed her eyes.  She still didn’t know where her marriage stood.  Wardens had no families but she refused to let hers go.  Even so, being away, doing Warden work, why did he stick around?  Why did he miss her?  They had long ago established that they didn’t love each other but had a mutual respect.  This was, however, no time to dither upon her relationship.  There was that Darkspawn mystery and, worse, a whole bunch of nobles waiting for her.

\--

Nathaniel sat alone in his cell, awaiting judgment.  He should have known that he would be caught.  He took a couple guards down with him but that would be detrimental in the end.  He shouldn’t have come.  The Wardens were here and he wasn’t wanted.  He pressed his back against the wall, the rough stone scratching his back through the thin fabric of his shirt.  Far ahead, he heard a door open and figured it was the Commander.  One of the Heroes of Ferelden.  The Arling, his home, was under her control.  He could hear voices coming down the hallway, getting louder as they approached.

“The Commander is--”

“I know,” came the reply, “but we wanna see the prisoner first.”

Nathaniel glanced through the bars to see four forms approach.  One was the guard posted at the door.  Nathaniel knew his sneering face well.  The other three were new.  He looked at the elves first since, in his slumped down position, they were easiest to view.  The girl wore traveling leathers but carried a staff--both elves carried staves, actually.  She had black hair pulled back into a horsetail and a slight scowl on her face.  The boy was taller and dressed in a soft-looking shirt that had a hood pulled up and plain trousers.  His skin was light brown whereas the girl’s was rather pale.  Fluffy, white blonde hair fell in his eyes that were blank and white.  Other than the height and difference in coloration, he thought they looked similar.  It wasn’t that they were elves--though he momentarily chastised himself for that--but they had the same narrow chins and high cheekbones.  The same noses, even.

The human, he tried to avoid.  He knew he was even without looking at the blue and silver laurel tattooed on his massive bicep.  Lord Ian Cousland.  He couldn’t bear to make eye contact with him.  How could he when his father orchestrated the death of his family?  Nathaniel had nothing to do with it but he was certain that that wouldn’t matter to him

“What’d he do?” the boy elf asked.  In addition to his staff across his back, he carried a cane in one hand.

“Theft, uh...serrah.” The guard seemed at a loss as to how to address the elf.

“Theft!” Nathaniel couldn’t help but bark out. “These are my belongings!”

Lord Cousland went rigid.  The girl elf put her hand on his arm and stroked it.

“Down boy.”

“He’s a Howe.”

Nathaniel got to his feet so he could have a better chance of looking up into Cousland’s eyes.  They were as hard and flat as greenstone and his wide mouth was set into a scowl.

“Yes,” he replied. “My father...this was his home.  Our home.  I wanted family heirlooms.”

He waited for a reply.  For a barb or joke.  From what he heard, the Lord was famous for them.  He turned away from the cell and began walking back down the narrow hallway.

“Let him die.”

The guard and girl followed him, the former squawking about it being the Commander’s right and the latter flicking his arm.  That left Nathaniel alone with the boy.

“That’s not good,” he said, grinning. “Ian’s pissed.”

“I can imagine.  I had nothing to do with my father’s plot and now my entire family…”

“Guess that’s how it works,” he said. “Emphasis on ‘guess.’  I’ve been in the Circle my whole life and I’m an elf.  I dunno how noble junk works…”

Despite everything, he chuckled.

“So...you’re Howe.  I’m Castor.”

“Nathaniel,” he corrected. “Nathaniel Howe.”

“Na...thaniel…” he stretched out his name as he spoke it and grinned.

He had an interesting accent, both he and the girl.  Southeastern Ferelden.  The sort of truncated words and slight stretching and of vowels.  It was different from the Highever drawl of Lord Cousland.

“Yes…”

“It sounds nice.  I wanted to savor saying it.”

“Oh.”

Castor fiddled with his cane.

“I probably ought to go.  They’re going to look for the Commander for judgment or something.  I kind of hope they don’t kill you--you have a nice voice.”

He waved and turned to go, using his cane to guide himself back up the hallway.  Nathaniel stared after him in confusion.  He didn’t want him to be executed because...he liked his voice?  What a strange elf.

\--

Maeve folded her hand under her chin and sighed.  So much to do and all at once.  A messenger was outside with letters asking for her help.  Stewards were asking for commerce and to bring in tradesmen.  Tradesmen!  Maeve found herself wishing for a time when her only duties were household chores and making Devyn stop pitching rocks over the Alienage walls.

“Plus the prisoner,” Cassan said.

Plus the prisoner.  Nathaniel Howe, son of the dearly departed Arl Howe.  Ian, angrier than she had seen him in some time, snarled and demanded his execution.  She only withheld as she was certain he would regret his insistence since Nathaniel seemed innocent of his father’s crimes, at least.

“I ought to talk to him,” she said. “But what do I do?  I can hardly condemn him to death, can’t I?”

“Why not?” Cassan asked. “He killed three guards.”

“Don’t!” Castor exclaimed. “I like his voice.”

Maeve didn’t see why that was a point to be made.  She glanced at Tobias who was too busy looking at Anders and blushing to be any help.  Anders, meanwhile, was oblivious to his blushing and was arguing with Oghren about something.

“He’s a Howe,” Ian said through clenched teeth. “That’s reason enough.”

“And you’re not biased?” Maeve asked, quirking a brow. “Milord?”

She did it to get a rise out of him and judging by the way his shoulders bunched up, it worked.  She glanced to Devyn and the irony was not lost on her that she was turning to him to be a voice of reason.

“Cousin?”

He tapped his chin with his index finger and chewed over his lips, apparently deep in thought.  She didn’t know exactly what he had been up to for the past six months--other than fattening Alistair up like a prized hog--but he had to have some insight.

“Make him a Warden,” he said finally.

“What?” Cassan and Ian cried in unison.

Castor put his hands over his ears and scowled.

He shrugged. “It can be punishment in and of itself.  If he even passes the Joining.  He took out three guards--a crime but also a test of skill.  He dies, he dies.  He lives, we get an archer to at least pass the time until Theron arrives.”

Ian sniffed and said, “You have me.”

“You aren’t a Warden.”

Maeve squinted at him for a moment before letting a smile creep onto her face.

“You’re more level headed, cousin.”

“Six months in court, remember?” As if she could forget. “I’ve learned that, as much as I wish it did, punching doesn’t solve everything.”

She patted his arm consolingly.  Cassan, meanwhile, pinched him.

“Go back to normal, pipsqueak.”

“I will once I get to swing my axe into some Darkspawn, promise.”

“You better.” She knuckled him in his shoulder and Devyn batted her hand away.  The sight of it made her smile.  She had missed this.  Missed their bizarre little family unit of Wardens.  It wasn’t complete but it was getting there.

“You just think the prisoner’s cute,” she accused though her voice held no heat.

“I haven’t even seen him!” Devyn huffed. “And, plus, I’m married.”

He waved his ringed hand in her face and she grabbed it, lacing her fingers with his and trying to force his arm down.  Devyn stared at her impassively and flexed his arm to keep her from doing so.

“Married?” That seemed to pique Anders’s interest, finally.  He turned from his argument, all ears. “Who’s the lucky lass?”

Cassan burst out laughing and Devyn elbowed her none too gently.

“Lad,” Ian corrected and he was smiling, at least, and not scowling and snarling.  Maeve couldn’t help but be relieved. “The King, actually.”

“They let two men get married?” Anders asked, eyes wide. “The King?  To an elf?”

Devyn nodded, his eyes even wider.

“Yes, of course.  And he can abdicate power to me and let me rule Ferelden by myself.”

“Really?”

“Fuck no.  We had a Dalish ceremony our friend Kierin performed--reluctantly, might I add.”

“Oh…”

Anders seemed a bit disheartened by the statement but Maeve didn’t know him well enough--or care--to press.  She drew in a deep breath.  She probably should direct everyone’s attention to the tasks at hand but, honestly, she welcomed the distraction.  Who knew that being Warden Commander of Ferelden would require so much bureaucracy?

“So Nice Voice gets to be a Warden?” Castor asked. “Can I go tell him?”

Cassan grabbed the back of his top before he could move.

“Why are you so interested?” she asked.

“I told you: he has a nice voice.”

“Bullshit.  What’s the real reason?”

“There is none.  I’m that superficial.”

Cassan sniffed indignantly as if she didn’t believe him.  Castor heard it and smiled broadly.

“Let Maeve do it,” Tobias said, finally broken from his spell. “She is Warden Commander.  You aren’t even a Warden, Cas.”

Maeve as a bit surprised by the affectionate nickname but remembered that Tobias had come from the Circle as well.

“When doesn’t Castor chime in?” Anders asked with a smirk on his face.

To Maeve’s surprise, she saw Castor’s face darken.

“Shut your hole, Anders,” he snapped. “No one asked you!”

“Why are you even here?” he persisted. “I’m a Warden and you are not.”

Castor slipped his hand behind his back and Maeve saw a purple-white aura forming behind it.  Cassan saw it too and put both of her hands over his.

“He’s not worth it,” she whispered, loud enough for elf ears but judging by the no change in Anders’s expression, not for human’s.

Maeve looked at Castor’s scowl and realized that this was the first time she had seen him without a smile on his face.  Anders had come from the Circle as well and she wondered what history he had with the twins.  An issue for a later date, she figured.

“Prepare the Joining,” she said to her fellow Wardens.  Cassan and Devyn merely smirked at her. “That’s an order, you two.”

\--

Nathaniel had been a Warden for over a fortnight and the strangeness of it had yet to wear off.  His life wasn’t that different, save for the dreams, save for the appetite, but he felt restless.  Vigil’s Keep was still recovering, being rebuilt.  Maeve went out to gather materials with her cousin.  Nathaniel was glad when he was gone.  It wasn’t that he didn’t like Devyn but his laugh was...well, it was downright awful.

“The King fancies my laugh,” he’d said and Nathaniel didn’t know why that mattered but the mage girl, Cassan, had tittered as though it did.

She was another issue since she was...he didn’t know what she was to Cousland but she was most certainly on his side.  Every time he saw him, the ambient temperature dropped to freezing.  Nathaniel got no sleep not because of Darkspawn dreams but due to fear of waking up to an arrow to the throat.  Maeve was kind enough and Castor kept by his side, speaking to him and smiling in a way that made Nathaniel feel...itchy.

Today, he walked around the grounds with Anders and that mage from the Circle.  Tobias, he had said and rubbed his nose with one finger.  He looked at Anders like he hung the sun and Nathaniel couldn’t figure out why.  He mostly spent time with him because Anders would speak to him and didn’t make veiled comments about ending his life like Cousland or made him feel like his stomach was clenching at all hours like Castor.  Anders was a means to not be alone so he wasn’t sure why Tobias looked at him in admiration all the time.

Near the edge of the courtyard, he saw two cloaked figures.  One was bent, a hand sticking out from the loak to stroke an orange kitten.

“A kitty!” Anders exclaimed.

Nathaniel eyed him wearily and said, “Yes, and just ignore the mysterious, robed figures petting it.”

Anders blinked at him in confusion and, Maker, he was vexing.  The one petting the cat stood up and Nathaniel felt himself tense.  They had heard him?  The figure pushed back their hood to reveal a bounty of glossy, blue-black hair and a fine-boned face.  Delicate, pointed ears slid out between the strands of hair and his face was lined with brownish black tattoos.  An elf, and a Dalish at that.  The other followed suit and his face was rather handsome as well--if creased in a scowl.  He had close-cropped, golden hair and tattoos in a different pattern.  What the difference in meaning was, Nathaniel couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Hey!” one said. “It’s that cute mage that was with us.  Tobias.”

He pronounced his name Toe-bee-us, causing him to flush.

“Tobias,” he quietly corrected.

“That’s it--ir abelas.  Want this cat?” He bent down and scooped the kitten into his arms.

“Why would he want a cat, lethallin?” Blondie asked.

“I want a cat,” Anders said.

The elf--Lethallin?--wrinkled his nose.

“Who are you, shem?”

He stood and rolled his shoulders back, puffed up his chest, and made Tobias go a bit red.

“Anders, Grey Warden.”

Lethallin and his blonde friend exchanged a look of disdain and then stared back at them.

“You’re a Grey Warden?”

“By conscription of Commander Tabris herself.”

“Elgar’nan’s cock--don’t give me that look, Kee--she really isn’t being discerning, is she?”

Tobias flicked his gaze between both parties and sighed.

“Anders, this is Theron Mahariel and Kierin Sabrae so before you say anything, I’m going to remind you that you probably know those names because they helped end the Blight.”

Nathaniel raised his brows, surprised.  For the first time he noticed the eyes of the dark-haired elf were black, save for the green of his irises.  He had heard of him, even in the Free Marches.

“I’m Nathaniel Howe.”

“Howe...ooh....” Theron put a hand over his mouth.  He lowered it and said, “Your father was a prick.”

He had a feeling that this was going to be a common reaction to his introductions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me a little bit to write mostly because i realized that in order to properly write this i will probably have to replay awakening.


End file.
